


A Normal Life

by DeCarabas



Series: Fugitives Together [45]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4552347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCarabas/pseuds/DeCarabas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You should have a normal life, not be tied down to a fugitive with no future."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Normal Life

The smiling old man who pressed a tea tray onto Hawke to take out to the garden could have been any of the farmers who used to come into Lothering on market day, or any of the grandfathers in Lowtown who’d helped Lirene sort through donations for the refugees. If Hawke hadn’t just seen him knocked down by a templar’s cleanse, he would never have guessed the man had been a high-ranking Circle mage just a few months ago, before the Circles finally started rising up.

The templars who’d found the enchanter had been a small, independent group, not connected with any of the larger factions involved in the war—which was bad luck for Hawke and Anders, as they’d been trying to track down one of the those larger factions’ camps, but good for the enchanter at least. There wouldn’t be more templars looking for these ones when they didn’t report back. Though Hawke had tried to convince the enchanter that it’d be safer to disappear anyway, the old man wouldn’t hear of it; and he’d talked them into staying for a meal, since they’d been so much help disposing of the bodies. After days on the road, the savory scent coming from the pot over the fire was difficult to refuse. And while Anders was quickly deemed useless in the kitchen and banished to the garden, the former senior enchanter’s voice filled with delight as he talked about his experiments with recipes after a lifetime of Tranquil-prepared meals.

Balancing the tea tray on one hand, Hawke stepped out the back door of the little cabin into a riot of color. Brilliantly red trumpet flowers, vines heavy with grapes, and large, brightly-painted pots overflowing with herbs encircled a single enormous apple tree bearing fruit out of season. The air hummed with the sound of bees, and practically vibrated with the sense of magic intertwined with the leaves and vines, primal and creation strands woven together beneath the soil.

On a weather-worn wooden bench, Anders’ head hung back, eyes closed, dozing.

He stirred as Hawke approached, opening his eyes and taking the cup Hawke put into his hands with a nod of thanks.

“No wonder the templars found him,” Hawke said in an undertone as he sat down beside him, nodding around the garden. Even if he hadn’t been able to sense it, the old enchanter hadn’t been out of the Circle very long, not nearly long enough for this to have grown without the aid of magic; nevermind the out-of-season fruit. The cabin was isolated, but not isolated enough to get away with performing magic outdoors, where any chance passerby might see. “This isn’t exactly subtle.”

Anders raised his eyebrows. “I was just thinking this is the way our magic _should_ be used,” he said, with a quick smile.

“Gardening?”

“Why not? People wouldn’t be so afraid of us if they could see magic as something that makes the crops grow, instead of something that sets the barn on fire.”

Hawke snorted. “You haven’t met enough farmers. You’ll have them terrified we’re all out to steal their livelihood.”

Hawke realized after he’d said it that he was echoing his father’s words to him from years ago. When they’d first moved to Lothering, he’d been clearing a field of rocks, digging them out of the soil and dragging them off to the side to build a low wall around the farm. They lived a good distance from the village itself, and with no one around to see, he hadn’t thought there’d be any harm in applying a little force magic to speed up the process. His father had disagreed. One new neighbor dropping by at the wrong moment, one kid playing in the woods out back, and they’d have to run again. It was a completely unnecessary risk when just a little time and effort would get the field clear, and he was old enough to know better, especially after how upset Bethany had been about their last move. The less he used his magic, the safer they all were.

It was a deeply-ingrained lesson. But that was the point of all this fighting, wasn’t it? To create a world where that kind of lesson wasn’t needed. He didn’t think they were there yet, but he couldn’t fault the old enchanter for trying; they probably needed more mages like him if things were ever really going to change—mages who went about their lives openly using magic for growing flowers, or running free clinics. It wasn’t just templars that kept the mages in chains, it was other people’s fear.

Between the two, he’d rather fight the templars. It was a lot simpler.

Anders was looking into the cup between his long fingers as intently as if he could read their fates within. “We might have lived in a place like this, in another life,” he said.

 _In another life_ usually meant _before Justice,_ a thought that always made Hawke a little uncomfortable, trying to imagine what Anders would be like without half his personality. He looked around the garden. “A place like this? We’d go stir-crazy inside a week.”

The corner of Anders’ lips quirked up at that.

Watching him, Hawke thought of all the times Anders had told him to leave and find somebody else, somebody who could give him a normal life, and wondered if this was the kind of normal life he’d had in mind. Neither of them had ever been really comfortable in Hightown, but a little farm in the countryside like he’d grown up with, just him and Anders, somewhere the templars might never find them—it had its appeal. A life where a cup of tea wasn’t a luxury. Long, lazy nights curled up in front of a warm fireplace, with mabari pups playing around their feet, and a cat hunting mice. And Anders playing music again, now that he had all the time in the world to learn how, without always having to run off to the clinic and the underground and the countless other demands on his time.

Provided Anders could turn a blind eye to the suffering of people just like them, and provided Hawke could go back to spending his life hiding, waiting for the day the templars finally locked him up.

“I can’t picture you actually going into hiding,” he said out loud.

“What do you mean, _actually_ hiding? Life on the run doesn’t count?”

“Not the way you do it,” Hawke said firmly, smiling around his cup. “I'm fairly certain the templars are meant to be hunting us, not the other way around.”

“Yes, well.” Anders shrugged. “I used to be a lot better at this.”

“That’s not how Isabela tells it.”

A normal life in an isolated little cabin where the templars might never find them, passing their days in peaceful evenings just like this, leaving the world behind—it was a pleasant daydream. But he wanted the dream Anders was chasing, a world where there was no need to hide.


End file.
